


lift his body from the shore and bring him home

by spock



Category: Redwater (TV 2017)
Genre: Domesticity, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, M/M, Phobias, Rekindling an Established Relationship, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: Andrew is Kieran's till death. That's the truth of it, from start to finish.





	lift his body from the shore and bring him home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atlanticslide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlanticslide/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Thank you **L** for the beta.

Andrew hasn't been inside the bathroom for more than a minute or two before he hears Kieran's knuckles rap on the other side of the door, followed by him asking if Andrew's alright. 

"Fine." Andrew calls out. He turns off the tap and shakes the water from his hands, turns to dry them on the towel that hangs just beside the mirror. "Sorry, just found myself needing a moment there." 

When he opens the door he finds Kieran leaning against the frame. "Ah, is that what they're calling it in Ireland these days?" 

A flush blooms its way onto Andrew's cheeks and he can't help the nervous laughter that escapes from his throat, an aggressive huff of an exhalation. He lets the door swing open the rest of the way, connecting lightly with the wall inside the bathroom. He leans with his back against the hinged edge. The toes of his boots rest alongside Kieran's socked feet in the narrow space of the doorway. 

"Oi, enough of that from you," Andrew says, once he remembers that he should probably say something at all. Andrew wonders if he's being rude, having left his shoes on and treading dirt from halfway across the globe into Kieran's nice little walk-up flat. 

Kieran smiles in response, reaches out to take hold of Andrew's hand where it hangs limp at his side, slightly chilled by the water that had come from the tap. Andrew watches as Kieran plays with his fingers in the space between their bodies. He landed in New York little more than an hour ago and already he feels more sure in his skin than he has in years. 

"I guess I should get you over to mom’s," Kieran says. "Let you drop off your things, say hello."

His place is nice. Plush and posh, like it belongs in a magazine, a loft in the sense that its only got space for the one bed. When Andrew had crossed the threshold and taken it in for himself, the first word that came to mind had been _brilliant_. Then Kieran had mentioned that Andrew would be staying with Auntie Eileen, since she had the spare room. 

That'd been what sent him off to the bathroom. 

Andrew swallows and lolls his head over to the side, so that he can look out into the open space of the living room. "You've got a couch, haven't you?" he asks. 

Kieran turns to look in the same direction. "Well, yeah."

"I'll be spending most of my time with you anyway, yeah?" Andrew turns his hand over so that he's the one playing with Kieran's fingers, giving him something to do to keep from needing to look into Kieran's eyes. "Doesn't make sense for you to collect me each day. Aren't you Americans supposed to be right keen on the environment, besides?" 

He smiles when Kieran laughs. 

"I don't know who you’ve got feeding you these stories, man. That’s a Californian stereotype, clear on the other side of the country.” Kieran shifts so that he's no longer leaning against the doorframe and it brings their faces closer together. With Andrew still slumped against his end of the door, Kieran stands about a head taller than him, their slight height difference exaggerated. 

Andrew risks a glance at Kieran's face through his lashes and sees that Kieran's gaze is focused on their hands, still suspended between them, where Andrew's got their knuckles interlocked.

Kieran’s smiling a little, more a twitch to one side of his lips than an actual expression. He pulls his hand away from Andrew's, tenses and relaxes his fingers. The motion has the tips of them brush lightly against Andrew's shirt. "You sure that you're not the one going for a law degree?” Kieran asks. “That was quite the solid argument." 

They both laugh, quiet snuffs that escape through their noses. They used to do that all the time when they were kids. It drove Mouse insane, made shivers to run down her spine, gooseflesh across her arms. Gran would smile and say the laugh ran in the family, a sign that Kieran and Andrew were related, but really it was something that they'd come up with one day, a laugh that only they'd have. It started out as a joke and turned into a habit that Andrew's unable to break, something he no longer thinks about, a reaction as uninhibited as a sneeze. They'd made a decision on a lark and completely changed the way their bodies reacted. 

Andrew pushes up off the door and kisses the corner of Kieran's mouth, brushes his nose against the soft skin of Kieran's cheek. He'd wanted to do that at the airport, where nobody had known them from Adam. 

He hadn't known where he and Kieran stood. Still doesn’t, really. If everything they'd done was meant to stay in Ireland, like all the other things Kieran and his mam had left behind. It'd been easier to hug Kieran tight as he could, give him a hard time when he tried to take Andrew’s bag for him. 

They'd caught up with one another in the taxi from the airport to Kieran's, as respectable a distance from one another as they'd been able to manage while still sending well-placed elbows and cuffs to the head across the center seat. 

Andrew drops his forehead to rest against Kieran's shoulder and just breathes in the smell of him. Kieran flexes his chest and Andrew takes it as his cue to stand up tall, face the repercussions of his actions. 

He does so slowly, feeling the vertebrae of his spine press against his skin. He looks up just in time to catch Kieran's face before it's too close for Andrew to focus on without his eyes crossing. 

Kissing him reminds Andrew of childhood. Sleepovers, afternoon chores up in attic of the main house where they'd meant to be cleaning things up for a little weekend pocket change but had gotten distracted the moment the door had closed behind them. Hours lost in the barn, tucked away in a corner even the animals didn't know about, consumed with one another's mouth. They'd kissed so much, hadn't known that there was anything else to do.

Andrew knows that there's more, now. 

"Remember," Kieran says, not bothering to pull back at all, speaking directly into Andrew's mouth. When he licks his lips, his tongue wets Andrew's more than his own. "Remember when we were kids and talked about being roommates when we grew up?"

"No mams bothering us." Andrew presses his smile against Kieran's lips, continuing, "Or telling us what to do." Kieran's answering grin feels wicked against Andrew's lips, teeth digging into the meat of them. 

Kieran gets both of their pants undone and fishes their cocks out in record time. Might even beat their record too, from back when they used to keep track of such things. Andrew can't remember what their best for getting naked was. He has to have it somewhere back home, written in a notebook tucked away where his mam would never look. 

He made a promise to himself, as left the farm to head to the airport, that after this trip was over and he returned home, he would finally move into a place of his own. Somewhere in town, a flat fit for a man in his early twenties, like most of his friends had. Now Andrew's thinking about following in his Auntie's footsteps and putting an even greater distance between the family and himself. If Kieran wouldn't mind having a roommate for more than a week, maybe. 

Kieran gets the both of them settled within the grip of his palm, Andrew kissing him all the while. He brings both his hands up to cradle Kieran's face, fingers hooking underneath his jaw. He gasps into the damp cavern of Kieran's mouth, feeling a shiver shoot down his spine and right into his toes when Kieran slides his thumb over the sensitive head of Andrew's cock, down inside the foreskin. 

"All the guys around here are cut," Kieran says. "I hate it. Talk about a waste of good dick."

Kieran looks at Andrew with a smile, but Andrew isn't smiling back. He hates the thought of Kieran — 

Andrew hasn't been a saint in all the time that they've been separate from one another, but he'd never throw it in Kieran's face like this, expect him to find humour in it all the same, like they’re lads having a laugh. All told, Andrew's hardly been with anyone. He's always found it lacking, thinks that if Kieran feels the same, then Andrew has no idea why he keeps giving it a go with rando’s that don’t satisfy. 

He’s sure that Kieran's ruined him. Seems only fair that Andrew remind him that it's always been a two-way street between them, destruction and salvation both. 

His hands fall from Kieran's cheeks and onto his shoulders. Andrew shoves him back across the small gap to the other side of the doorframe, crowds into Kieran's space and kisses him again, roughly this time, taking control the pace and depth of it. He drops a hand over Kieran's, joining him in working their cocks, increasing the pressure there. 

Andrew feels like he experiences Kieran's orgasm more than his own. He keeps his eyes open to take in the rapture that comes through in Kieran's expression, eyes closed and mouth open. The noises he makes are the same, the smell of him the same, the flutter of his eyelids and the smile he gives Andrew before he's leaning back in to kiss everywhere on Andrew's face but his lips, the same. 

Kieran sighs and rubs their noses together. "I missed you," he says, and his tone is so aching that Andrew knows it in his bones that Kieran doesn't just mean it because this, the sex. It goes a long way to calm the jealousy that had burned bright inside of him. 

They kiss a few more times and then Kieran pulls away. Andrew hadn't even realized that Kieran had still been holding them in the palm of his hand until he lets go, Andrew left feeling exposed. He misses the feel of Kieran, the closeness.

As if reading his mind, Kieran says, "I think we're both in need of a shower. What do you say we get that recycled air off you?"

"Oh, is that what you Americans are calling it these days?" Andrew pushes his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicks them off into the main room with his feet. He sits down on the closed toilet lid and leaves Kieran to work the faucets and get the water to the right temperature, climbing in once Kieran declares it satisfactory. 

Behind the curtain, the shower is modern looking but not overmuch to write home about. It reminds Andrew of when they were really young, before Mouse and Isis and the storm, when he and Kieran would swim late into the summer evenings and always used to double-up when it came time to rinse off, too cold and tired to wait for proper turns. 

Kieran takes first pass at being under the spray of water, something he's always done. Andrew's never minded the view, even before he knew what that meant. 

He decides to keep with tradition and runs his fingers lightly along Kieran's sides, laughs at the yelp Kieran croaks out, nearly doubles over when Kieran whirls 'round and gives him a look that screams betrayal. "You sissy," Andrew says, or tries to say, anyway, words lost between his gasps of laughter. 

"I think your ass will be sleeping on that couch after all," Kieran says. He get his hand around Andrew's middle and shoulders him into the wall opposite the nozzle. 

When their faces get within kissing distance Andrew does just that. He takes Kieran's bottom lip into his mouth and sucks the water away. Andrew forgets the whole reason they’d entered the show in the first place, lost to the world until his back starts to grow cold and clammy, all the warmth of his orgasm leeched from him into the tile. 

"Kieran," he says, between kisses, "Kieran, am I ever going to get some of that water? I'm freezing over here." 

Andrew lets out a little whine when Kieran pulls away from him and takes him by the shoulders, switching their positions so that Andrew's facing the spray and it's Kieran stood behind him. It's possible Andrew didn't think this through. 

"Now who's the sissy, you whiner." Kieran cuddles up to his back and Andrew thinks that the heat of Kieran’s body rivals the hot water raining down against his front. 

It feels like he's at the spa when Kieran washes him down, soap held in one hand and a flannel in the other. When Andrew's given the chance to the return the favor, he takes time to draw it out for as long as he can, reacquaints himself with Kieran's body, finds that he'd never lost the feel for it. 

When they finally step out of the tub, they're wrinkled messes. Andrew takes his time getting dressed, preoccupied with watching as Kieran rushes through it. "You sneak a coffee while I was rising the soap from my hair or somethin'?" he asks. 

Kieran doesn't reply until after his head reappears through the neck of the sweater he's just pulled on. "You know me," he says. "Nothing recharges my batteries like getting off."

Andrew does know that indeed. His face must betray the smugness he feels, going off the eyeroll and laugh Kieran sends his way. Andrew grins at him and finishes getting ready. He's preoccupied with searching the depths of his luggage for a sweater that won't be too much of an embarrassment when matched with the wash of the jeans that he's got on when Kieran says, "Oh, shoot."

When he looks back he sees Kieran hunched over his laptop at his desk. "Shoot?" he echoes. "You're such a good boy, Kieran." Auntie Eileen and Uncle Sean were always much stricter than Andrew's own mam and da when it came to cursing. Andrew's almost embarrassed at himself for how fond he is of Kieran for seemingly having the lesson stick. 

"Shit, whatever," Kieran says, throwing it over his shoulder as he continues to click around on the thing. 

"Shite." Andrew wanders over towards the desk. He'd been told that Kieran would be on break from his studies for the entirety of Andrew's visit. He wants to know what it is that could steal Kieran's attention from him. "You're Irish, Kieran. Speak like an Irishman, even if you've lost the accent."

Kieran turns to him, giving Andrew the attention he desires, and says, "Shite," sounding all the world like he had back when they were kids, brogue thicker than even Andrew's da's been known to be. "It dropped about ten degrees while we were busy in there, seems like a cold front moving in," he keeps the accent going the entire while. 

Andrew feels like a kid at a magic show, witnessing a trick so spectacular and unexpected that he never would have even dreamed it up had he not seen it with his own eyes. He finishes crossing over to Kieran at the desk and wastes no time in kissing him senseless. 

"Which one's the fake?" he asks, one they've pulled apart to catch their breaths. 

"Both," Kieran says, sounding like himself again, an American with a hint of something else scraping around the end of some vowels. "Neither. They both feel the same. It's easier to sound like I used to when you're around." 

Andrew kisses him a few more times. "Guess I'll have to stick around for a while then." 

"Guess so." 

Kieran pulls away to head over to his closet, pulling off the heavy knit he'd only just put on and tossing it into a corner. Andrew watches him pull on some kind of thermal layer, then a fancy looking black sweater that hugs his arms just right, and then a green one overtop that, just as tight as the one under it and looking just as fine. 

They walk towards the door and put on their shoes. Kieran wraps a scarf around his neck and shrugs into his coat while Andrew does the same, sans scarf. 

"No way will it be that cold out," Andrew says, just to give himself something to say. The coat looks like it belongs in the kit of a man about to embark on an arctic expedition.

"It's in the teens." Kieran’s voice is slightly muffled from behind his scarf. 

"That's practically a warm, summer’s day!" 

Kieran kicks the back of Andrew's knee, making it buckle a little under his weight, before turning to lock the door behind them as they step out of the flat. "I meant Fahrenheit and you know it. Have you got everything? Wallet?" 

Andrew doesn't bother to pat himself down. "Wouldn't matter if I did, haven't hit up the exchange, have I? You're paying today, Mr. Fancy Lawyer. Also, Fahrenheit is an abomination."

They bicker over temperature scales as the walk out of the building and down onto the street. Andrew likes to think that he does a well enough effort at defending the rest of the world's choice in Celsius, and tries his best not to let on to Kieran that he's always thought that Fahrenheit's made more sense in representing how humans perceive temperature. It's an argument he's had more than a few times back home, with Dermott and his da and friends from school. Kieran would know that had he not moved away. As it is, Andrew's happy to play devil's advocate and yank Kieran's chain a little. 

There's a subway station not far from Kieran's building that they reach quickly enough. The train pulls up a little while after they reached the platform. The coach itself is decently packed when they enter it. When Kieran heads straight to the grab rails, Andrew trails after him like a shadow. 

It's hard to keep conversation up over the noise of the train and the sounds of the other people around them. Andrew watches the light from the tunnels flicker across Kieran's face and nearly jumps out of his skin when Kieran takes his hand while he’s distracted. Kieran smirks at him in that way of his, glances at Andrew out of the corner of his eye. Andrew squeezes their fingers together and then turns his attention to the windows once they clear the ground again and move up onto a bridge. 

Eventually their stop comes. When they disembark, Kieran keeps hold of Andrew’s hand as they make their way back up a flight of stairs and spill out onto the street with the rest of the commuters. 

The restaurant they stop in front of nearly has Andrew do a double-take, suddenly worried that he won't be let in past a maître d', and this place absolutely looks like it'll have one manning the door. When Kieran mentioned lunch reservations in the taxi earlier, this hadn't been the type of place what had come to Andrew’s mind. 

He does get a second and third look from the waitstaff as they take Kieran and Andrew's coats and lead them to their table, but in the end they're seated in a cozy little booth tucked into the corner, with lighting that Andrew can only think to describe as romantic. 

They haven't spoken in twenty minutes, at least. Andrew finds that he doesn't care to break the silence. He traps one of Kieren's feet between his own under the table and they smile sappily at one another until the waiter comes to take their drink orders. 

"I, uh," Kieran says, clearing his throat once they've been left alone at their table again. "I was gonna ring my friends and see if they wanted to do something this afternoon, give you the big New York welcome, show you off a little. But then I decided I wanted to keep you to myself as much as I can today, so you're stuck with me, sorry." 

Andrew reaches across the table and lays his hand on Kieran's. "What would you tell them?" he asks. "What have you told them?"

Kieran hums and closes his eyes for a few moments. He opens one again and squints at Andrew, his nose scrunched up. "Honestly, I don't remember. I guess I call you 'my best friend, Andy, from back overseas' more than I do my cousin. Why?"

He strokes over the back of Kieran's hand, trailing them down the slopes of Kieran's own fingers. Kieran grins. "I guess if anyone asks, I could say that I meant you're _like_ a cousin. Our moms, practically sisters, right?” Kieran asks. “That's probably closer to the truth than anything else. Although, most of my friends assume that the folk from towns like Redwater are fucking their cousins anyway, so it wouldn't be too much of a shock if the truth did get out." 

Andrew bristles. Kieran opens his mouth to say something but then the appetizers they'd ordered arrive and he closes it. Andrew stares at him while the waiter busies himself setting the table, taking in the defeated look on Kieran's face. 

"Sorry, it wasn't funny. Sorry," Kieran says, when they're alone. Andrew lets himself sulk a little longer, until Kieran shifts across the u-curve of their bench seat over to Andrew's side, dragging his plate and wine glass along with him, until he's cuddled up to Andrew's siding, throwing an arm over Andrew's shoulder. 

He kisses Andrew's cheek once, twice, and then picks up the fork beside Andrew's plate and starts to feed him. Andrew lets him, warming up again. 

Andrew lets his hand settle on Kieran's thigh beneath the tablecloth and he leaves it there through the entrée and on into dessert. He has to wrestle the fork from Kieran's hands when the shared serving of cake is dropped off in front of them, saying, "Alright, that’s enough from you." 

Kieran lets himself be fed a few bites before he waves the fourth one off, and Andrew sets about feeding himself. Kieran finishes off the dregs of his wine and asks, "How do you feel about a movie?"

Andrew glances down at the watch at his wrist. "When are we due to meet up with Auntie Eileen again?"

A hand comes up to the back of his neck and tangles itself into his hair. "It's all right, Grandad, don't you worry. Mom doesn't want to meet up until eight tonight, at the earliest. Nobody in this city has to go to bed early so that they can tend to the cows and horses, don't ya’ know?" 

Just for that, Andrew finishes up the cake himself without offering Kieran any more. He sniffs and says to Kieran, "Don't presume to know people's business." Andrew downs the rest of his wine as well and wipes his mouth on the fine linen napkin he's otherwise avoided for the entirety of their meal. 

Laugher blows hot into Andrew's ear as he buries his face into the curve of Andrew's neck, clearly trying to muffle the sound of it in the relaxed, distinguished atmosphere of the restaurant. "Gotta keep my breath to cool my porridge, and all that. I got ya loud and clear, Andy."

Kieran pays with his card and Andrew doesn't bother hiding the way his eyebrows ascend into his hairline when he sees the price of everything on top of the tip Andrew signs for. 

"Being a clerk pays well, does it?" 

The only answer he gets is Kieran's kiss pressed into his cheek. 

The theatre is only a few blocks away. To Andrew's hands, exposed to the elements as they are, it feels as if the temperature drops a degree with every step he takes. For the first half of the walk he keeps his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his medium-weight jacket. About halfway there he abandons that thought, grabs one of Kieran's hands into his own and stuffs the both of them into Kieran’s arctic monstrocity, which seems to Andrew to be growing more appropriate as the day wears on. 

The feeling finally returns to his hand as they're stand in the short queue at the front of the ticket booth. Sadly, the one that isn't encased in Kieran's feels as if it's a lost cause. He wonders if cinemas in America double as surgeries. He'd ask Kieran, but he doesn't want to give him any sort of satisfaction. Andrew's man enough to admit to himself that he should have put on a heavier coat, and probably borrowed one of Kieran's scarves, but he can't say that he’s evolved enough to admit such things to Kieran. 

Andrew lets Kieran pick the film once it’s their turn at the booth, and finds himself nearly moved enough to blink back tears when he sees a cafe inside of the lobby as they enter it. He drags Kieran to the counter, and has Kieran buy him an obnoxiously large cup of tea, which he cradles to his chest, with both hands, as they make their way into the auditorium and up the stairs into the very backmost row. 

The tingling dies down in the hand that only just avoided frostbite right as the previews start up. 

Kieran and he whisper to one another through each and every one of them, but by the time the film itself starts they're lost in one another, necking like teenagers. Andrew gets his hands under all four of the layer's Kieran has on and the skin hidden there feels hotter than the tea had. 

When the credits begin to roll, and Kieran and he finally detach their mouths from one another, Andrew realizes that he has absolutely no idea what film it was that they just watched, for a given value of the term. 

As they spill onto the street with the rest of the crowd, they realize it's pouring, a thick sleet that's half seemed to turn into snow, but not quite, as if it couldn't make up its mind and came to an utterly miserable compromise. 

"This is mental," Andrew says. They're hiding beneath the overhang of the theatre, mentally gearing themselves up for a mad dash to the nearest subway. 

"I don't know why you decided to come in the dead of winter. Wouldn't you have rather seen an actual summer for once in your miserable life?" Kieran pulls the scarf from where it's looped around his neck and starts to wind it around Andrew's.

"You don't have to —" Andrew cuts himself off when Kieran waves him off. He stands dutifully as Kieran tucks the edges into the neck of his jacket, sealing in some of the heat they'd generated whilst in the theatre. "You're right you know," he says, picking up the thread of their conversation. "But there’s no good time for me to get away when there's actual work to be done. Mam and da can't spare me." 

Kieran takes Andrew's face in both his hands and kisses him firmly on the lips for a while. "I'm happy anyway I can have you," he says, once he pulls back. "You ready to catch your death?" 

"New York will hardly be the end of me." Andrew already regrets saying the words, the feeling in his hands are already starting to go again, but all he's got left is his pride. 

They're soaked by the time they make it to the underground and board the train back to Kieran's, shivering as they each take hold of the same stanchion. Kieran unzips his jacket and Andrew lets go of the illusion of pride as he cuddles into Kieran’s chest. He presses his nose just so, into the corner of Kieran's jaw, and laughs as Kieran hisses at the contact. 

There's a gay couple sat across the isle from them. When Andrew meets one of the men's eyes he sends a smile Andrew's way, which Andrew returns. He fishes Kieran's free hand from his coat pocket and brings it up to his mouth after clasping their fingers together, using his breath to warm the both of them up. 

The journey home feels shorter than the one into the city. Andrew's actually a little bitter, because it means that they have to face the elements again sooner than he'd like. It's another mad dash from the station back to Kieran's. All they can do when they reach the lobby of the building is stare at one another. The silence of the elevator ride up to the eighth floor reveals to Andrew that their teeth are chattering. 

Andrew starts getting undressed the moment that they're through the door, throwing his worthless coat onto the floor in near-disgust. Kieran does the same. Frozen stiff as they are, it takes a while, but eventually they stand naked and shivering in the entryway of Kieran's apartment. 

They grab their clothes and take them to the bathroom, arms tangling as they hang things from the shower head and curtain rack to dry. Once they're done, Andrew gets Kieran to sit on the still-closed lid of the toilet and grabs a towel off the rack nearest him, begins to rub Kieran's head dry before moving on to his shoulders, his chest. Andrew drops to his knees on the cold tile of the floor and goes to work on Kieran's thighs, moving down to the get the rest of his legs. Kieran smiles at him all the while, hands coming up to comb through Andrew's hair a few times, scratching lightly at his scalp a bit in the way Andrew's always loved. 

Kieran uses his grip on Andrew's hair to tug and get him to stand, as he himself does once Andrew’s back on his feet. When their faces are level again, Kieran sort of sways towards him. Andrew expects to find himself being kissed but it doesn't happen, Kieran pulling back with a fresh towel in his hand, retrieved from the rack on the wall behind Andrew. He flushes, not even sure why, embarrassed at his own presumptiveness, and his neediness. Kieran catches sight of his expression leans back in, hugs Andrew for his trouble. 

The contact of their cold chests coming together is like a shock to the system, reminding Andrew that he's all but freezing still. Kieran takes the towel to Andrew's head and rubs it through his hair a few times before moving on to wipe off his face, neck, a match for Andrew's own movements on him. It's only when Kieran stops that Andrew realizes that he'd closed his eyes. He opens them and sees Kieran smiling at him. Kieran takes a curl of Andrew’s hair between his thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly. "Stay where you are," he says, and Andrew obeys. 

Kieran sits himself back down, his face level with Andrew's middle. He dries Andrew's chest, stomach, placing a hand on Andrew's arse for balance as he moves the towel down to work on Andrew's hips. Kieran slides his hand to the back of Andrew's thigh and tugs forward. Andrew raises his foot and sets it on the seat between Kieran's legs so that Kieran can dry his thigh, calf, foot. 

Andrew notices that Kieran's cock has begun to thicken between his legs. He uses his foot to toy with it a little, lightly moving his toes against Kieran's balls. At the cold press of them Kieran lets out a hiss, but doesn't tell him to stop. When Kieran finishes, Andrew returns his foot to the floor and reassumes the position with his other leg, Kieran giving it the same treatment. Andrew returns the favor, picks up where his other foot had left off. 

Finally dry, Andrew gets his hands on Kieran's shoulders and drags him to his feet. Once they're level again, Andrew kisses him, the hot press of Kieran's erection into his skin the best thing he's felt in ages. He starts to walk backwards out of the bathroom, Kieran following his lips as he goes. He blindly leads them to where he remembers the bed to be, falls over himself once the backs of his knees connect with the edge of it. 

Kieran's laugher is soft and he wastes no time in reestablishing their kiss. The two of them crawl up to the top of the bed and settle down into the pillows. Kieran reaches under one and comes back with a bottle of lube that looks like it's fresh off the shelf.

"Had big plans, did we?" Andrew asks. 

Nose to nose, Kieran nuzzles him and then pulls back to sit on his knees, flipping the lid open. "I know what we're like," he says. "What we _were_ like, anyway. A boy's allowed to dream." 

Andrew grabs a pillow to shove under his hips and spreads his legs wide. "A man, now." Andrew nods in the direction of Kieran's lap, where he's hard and thick, the head of his cock peeking out past the foreskin. 

Kieran slicks himself and then slides his hand between Andrew's legs, getting a few fingers inside of him. Andrew hasn't done this with anyone since Kieran left, barely touches himself there as it is, except for the nights where he really aches for it. The night before his flight, he'd gotten the courage to use some of the vaseline he kept on his nightstand to open himself up nice and wide, thinking of Kieran all the while. 

He's glad that he did. Kieran works him over for a few minutes before it's clear that he cant take anymore, and Andrew feels the same. Kieran lines himself up and then slides inside achingly slow, slower than Andrew wants, but probably just about the right speed for him can manage without that ache tipping over onto the wrong side of pain. 

It takes them even less time to come this time ‘round than it had that morning. Andrew comes first for a change, his whole body going tight as his orgasm overtakes him. He can feel it, vaguely, when Kieran comes inside of him. Andrew's arms wrap tight around Kieran and pull so that all of Kieran's weight rests on top of him, pushing Andrew deeper into the mattress below. 

They stay that way until Kieran's phone starts to ring, an annoying little chime that drags Andrew back into lucidity, cutting off a doze he hadn't even realized he was slipping in to. 

"Shit, it's mom," Kieran says. He pulls himself out of Andrew with a hiss and climbs off the bed on his knees, standing on shaky legs as he hobbles back to the door where his jacket is still crumbled in a heap. 

"Shite, mam," Andrew corrects, and then says, "Wait, did you not put that on silent when we were in the cinema? A right savage, you are." 

Kieran manages to catch it before the ringing stops and brings the phone up to his ear. "Hi mom," he says, and then goes quiet. 

Andrew looks to the bedside table and sees a box of tissues. He grabs himself a few and reaches behind himself to do his best to wipe away the mess Kieran made, before taking another few sheets to his front to clean the mess he made of himself. 

"I know," Kieran’s saying. He stands on legs that look more solid than they'd been on his journey towards the phone. "We got caught up in it on our way back." A pause. "Andy and I got lunch and then watched a movie." 

When Kieran reaches the bed again he sits at the foot of it. Andrew crawls down next to him and rests his head on Kieran's thigh. He uses the last of his tissues to wipe Kieran's cock clean, freezes when Kieran jerks away from his touch slightly. Andrew glances up to check that he's okay, mouths back _sorry_ after Kieran mouths _sensitive_ at him. 

Kieran's still being quiet, listening to his mam speak on the other end of the line as he reclines himself on the bed, laying flat. Andrew can make out the tinny sound of her voice on the other end of the line, but not what she's actually saying. He shifts and resettles his head onto Kieran's abdominals, lightly scratches at Kieran's ginger chest hair.

"Yeah, he's right here," Kieran says, and then passes the phone down to Andrew.

"Hiya, Auntie," he says. One of Kieran's hands come to to rub at his shoulder, massaging. 

"Andy! I can't believe you’re so close to being back in my arms, and yet this dreadful storm has seen fit to keep us apart! Can you believe it?" 

"It's Shakespearian, is what it is, Auntie Eileen." Andrew rolls his head to the side to give Kieran better access to his neck.

Kieran's body suddenly twists out from under Andrew, the movement leaving Andrew's head with nothing to do but drop onto the mattress awkwardly. "Oi," he says, interrupting Eileen in the middle of a sentence that Andrew realizes belatedly realizes he hadn’t been listening to. 

"What happened?" she asks. 

"Kieran's being rough with me," Andrew says. He laughs at the betrayed look he catches on Kieran's face. It's just as satisfying upside down as Andrew knows it to be right side up.

"Oh, you two are too old to be roughhousing like that still. Can't you be kind to one another? For me?"

"Kieran, you mam says that you need to be gentler with me."

Eileen laughs, loud and bright though the receiver. "I guess half the truth is better than none at all," she says. 

Andrew smiles when Kieran rolls his eyes, lets his own fall closed when Kieran puts his hands back on Andrew again, starts to massage Andrew's lower back and arse properly, firm, yet gentle. It feels so good. 

The only person in the world that Andrew's ever been tactile with is Kieran. Nobody back home has the time for it, too busy with work, not a one of them built for it emotionally, even if they'd had the inclination seek out contact in the first place. He and Kieran have always been so gentle with one another, when all’s said and done, from the very start. 

"Oh well, I suppose it can't be helped," Eileen says. Andrew hasn't a clue what she'd been going on about, but it seems as if she managed the conversation without him just fine. "I'll leave you boys to do your catching up and then we'll get brunch in the morning, if the weather isn't too bad, yeah? I'm so glad you got here safe, hun. I can't wait to see you!" 

"You too," Andrew says. Conversation done, he tosses Kieran's phone in the direction of their pillows and gives his spine a good stretch, rolls fully onto his front, pushing back into Kieran's hands. 

Kieran sounds amused when he says, "Did you hang up on my mom?"

"Nah." Andrew folds his arms under his head and rests his cheek on them so that he's facing Kieran. "She rang off."

"Wow," Kieran says. "She hasn't even seen you yet and yet I've already been replaced.” 

"I'm good family material, I'll have you know. Make a good son in law, me. Or so mam says." 

Kieran's hand still against his back. Andrew knows instantly that he's mucked things up. He clears his throat and starts talking. "On the train," he says. "Or, all day, really. We — we're a handsome couple. I want," he isn't sure how to finish that, instead says, "While I'm here, and, well. Yeah. Really, we've been a couple since we was kids, yeah? A pair, a duo. They've always put us together and it's never been bad. This isn't neither, I don't think. Marriage, whatever; it's not like we'd even need the law, would we? Blood already did it for us, didn't it?"

Andrew can't bring himself to look at Kieran's face. He stares at Kieran's knee nearest to his face and feels his heart start to sink when Kieran shifts away. 

He doesn't stay gone for long though. Kieran sits himself down on the back of Andrew's calves, the rest of him following until he's completely flat on top of him, chest to back, front of his knees fitting into the back of Andrew’s like they were made to be that way. "Andrew," Kieran says, instead of Andy like he usually does, and that makes Andrew's skin break out into gooseflesh. "That was very romantic."

"Shut up, you." Andrew laughs. "I have matured some since the last time you saw me. Not going to offer you a piece of gum, just so I can kiss it out of your mouth once you start gnawing on it, talking about _sharing is caring_ and all. My moves have improved somewhat."

Kieran starts to laugh, rolling himself off Andrew's body at the force of it. Andrew raises himself onto his arms and catches a glimpse of the flush overtaking Kieran's face before Kieran brings his hands up to cover it. Even his chest has gone red. "Fuck me," Kieran says. "Chewing gum still gets me hard, half the time." 

"Really?" Andrew asks. He casts his eyes back towards the door where his jacket is. "I got a fresh pack for the flight, altitude and all. It might be a bit soggy but we could give it a go, if you'd like."

"Stop," Kieran says, with finality undermined by how he's still laughing. He grabs hold of Andrew's arm and pulls until Andrew shifts and rolls on top of Kieran this time. Kieran spreads his legs, his knees coming up until his feet are flat on the bed and his inner thighs bracket Andrew's. 

Andrew grasps blindly across the surface of the bed until he finds the bottle of lube that that'd used earlier, pops the cap and gets his hand slippery. He reaches down and slides his fingers into Kieran.

They stare into one another's eyes when Andrew eventually eases himself inside of Kieran. His cock aches, unused to this much attention now that he's out of his teens, yet still he feels like his desire for Kieran will never mellow out, never tire itself. He's hyperaware that their time together is finite. It's almost as if his body knows it too, always ready and eager to give Kieran his pleasure and take its own, while they have the opportunity to do so. 

Their lips come together, the world narrowed down to the muggy humidity of their mouths, the tackiness of the sweat on their skin, how the hair on their arms, legs, chests catch and tug, a sharp, unexpected twinge that grounds Andrew in the reality of them doing this here, now, and not drifting into all the other times Kieran and he have been in this position in the past, sharing themselves. 

When Andrew comes it actually hurts, and he has to stay in Kieran for more than a moment so that he can catch his breath. Eventually he pulls out and drops beside Kieran on the bed, focuses onto his breath and tries to remember if the breathing exercises they'd been taught in secondary school said to breath in or out of the nose. 

"Kieran," Andrew says, reaching out with the arm he isn't laying on to drop his hand over Kieran's chest, pats the muscle there a few times. "Is it _in_ through the mouth? Out?"

Kieran hums and runs his hands through his hair, his body stretching in a long line that has Andrew's cock wondering if it has one more in him, even as his heart says that death is just around the corner if all this keeps up. "In through the mouth," Kieran says, "and out though the nose."

Andrew gives it a go a few times before deciding that it isn't doing shite for him. 

"Andy," Kieran's voice goes all sweet, his eyes big and beautiful and still slightly teared up from the fucking Andrew just gave him. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and, thanks to a bit of a poetry phase Andrew went through when they were kids, egged on by his father who hadn't known at who such feelings were directed, there's no way that Kieran doesn't know what it does to Andrew. 

Andrew's already accepted that he's going to do whatever Kieran asks him to, and Kieran hasn't even gotten to doing the asking yet. Andrew wonders, suddenly, if he could ask Kieran anything, absolutely anything, and get Kieran to do it. If Andrew asked Kieran to come back to Ireland with him, would he? 

"Alright," Andrew says, his voice shaking a little, and he swallows to bury those thoughts deep inside of himself where he’d never dare to let them out. "Out with it, so I can say _righty-o then, dearie,_ and get to it then."

"You're the best," Kieran says. "Fix us a cuppa, would you, Andy?" 

Andrew does, naked all the while since the heating in Kieran's flash apartment kicked on at some point while they'd been wasting time away in that bed, and has successfully kept the chill from entering into the flat now that they're all safe and bundled up inside of it. 

He peeks out of the curtained windows while the water boils, trying to get his mind to stay off of thoughts of the future that will do nothing but sour the present, and lets out whistle. "Proper storm out there," he says. 

He starts to pull the curtains open wider, so that Kieran can see from his spot on the bed, and nearly yanks the damn things off the rod at the tone Kieran uses when he shouts, "Don't!"

Kieran looks haunted, hands gripping the blankets tight enough that Andrew can see the whites of his knuckles dead-on across the room. 

Andrew goes back to the bed and steps onto it, walking up to Kieran where he lays at the head, haunches down so that so that Andrew can hug him, his body curling around Kieran. The arms Kieran wraps around Andrew's torso are tense. His hands rest on Andrew's shoulder blades, fingers digging into the wings of them that jut out at his back.

Andrew hasn't got a clue what to do, what to say. He starts spouting off about the first thing that comes to mind. "I love having my cock on your hip," he says, and it startles a laugh out of Kieran. Andrew can feel that it was one of their nose-laughs, and he carries on, encouraged. "I'm not joking. I have since we were kids."

Kieran turns his head from where he'd had it hidden in Andrew's chest and Andrew tilts his own face down so that he can meet Kieran's gaze. The expression on Kieran's face couldn't possibly be described in polite company. 

"Oh stop," Andrew says. "I'm talking _kids_ kids, before we ever messed around. Before I started to get hard, even. When we was six or seven, Dermott started to tease us over our long hugs, didn't he? And then we stopped hugging front to front, but nobody ever said anything when we was side by side. 

"Used to keep me up at night, how happy I felt thinking about you at my side. I got it into my head that we were almost like a gate when we hugged liked that. Nothing could get past us, locked like we were. Nothing could break us apart, neither. And I could get away with it without Dermott or anybody else teasing. Just two lads hanging on to one another."

Kieran laughs again, the grip of his hands relaxing a bit. "You're completely mental," Kieran says. The haunted look is gone from his eyes. 

Andrew licks his lips and tries to decide if the next part is worth saying, decides after a few seconds that it is. "On the boat, after we got pulled out and I could get my hands back on you again," Andrew says, "First that I did was pull you to my side, and I knew that we were gonna be alright. We are alright, aren't we, Kieran? All said and done." 

Kieran looks away. He ducks his head until it's pressed into Andrew's chest again. When he speaks, his lips catch on Andrew's skin. "Yeah." Kieran takes a deep breath and it comes out a little shuddery on the exhale. "We shan't never be parted, and all that." 

He squeezes Kieran as tightly as he can, leaning into the uncomfortable ache of Kieran's nose digging into his breastplate. "It's finished," Andrew says. 

When they pull apart, Kieran's expression is a little shocked. 

Andrew winks at him. "We have got DVD rentals up in Ireland." Andrew can't quite bring himself to admit that he'd read the book, cover to cover, not long after Kieran had first moved away, when he'd felt miserable and sorry for himself. 

The kettle goes and Andrew lets out his best long-suffering sigh alongside its whistle. He steps off the mattress and walks back to the kitchen. 

Kieran shouts instructions from the bed, so that Andrew can find the mugs and where Kieran keeps his tea. Andrew fixes Kieran's up the way he's always liked it, and doesn't bother getting fancy with his own. 

He gets distracted, a little, by the sight of Kieran in the corner of his eye, and has to be careful as he walks back to the bed, mindful not to spill a drop, so that he isn't told off.


End file.
